


Missing Light: Five Things That Never Happened to Vir Cotto

by Hobsonphile



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobsonphile/pseuds/Hobsonphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vir's life with Londo Mollari was often grim -- but the alternatives would've been much grimmer. (Originally published in 2003.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helpless

**I.**

**Helpless**  
  
He had to see him.  
  
As soon as he had heard, he had gone down to the dungeon to see him. The vile Shiv’kala had not interfered, perhaps because the Drakh had known, Londo thought darkly, that there was nothing the emperor could do.  
  
The cell was cold and dark and stank of waste and perspiration. Londo almost retched at the smell of it. He reached into his coat with a gnarled, shaking hand and produced a handkerchief, placing it over his mouth and nose. He crouched down and with his other hand gingerly touched the form slumped before him.  
  
Chains clanked against the wall as the prisoner shifted position, looking up at Londo with bleary brown eyes. Londo brought the cloth away from his face and murmured, “Great Maker… Vir…”  
  
Until that moment, a part of Londo had fervently hoped that Durla had misled him. That hope vanished like a touched snowflake at the sight of Vir’s battered face. One side of Vir’s jaw was purple and swollen and blood still seeped from his nose and mouth. “Londo…” Vir began, but before he could continue, he was overcome by a liquid cough that seemed to come from the very pit of his chest. Londo looked down and saw flecks of crimson standing out against the white of his vestments.  
  
“Londo…” Vir said again, but this time he was stopped by the pressure of Londo’s hands around his face.   
  
“Do not try to speak.” Londo’s whisper was ragged, harsh in the silence. “Gods, Vir. Why did you not stay away as I asked you to?”   
  
But Londo knew the answer to that question the moment he asked it. The reason burned brightly in years of memories. Memories of parties and jokes and arias sung. Memories of Vir by his bedside, watching and waiting. Memories of Vir’s arms around him, holding him awkwardly but warmly. Memories of Vir’s words years ago:   
  
_“I will never stop hoping that you retreat from the road that you’re walking. I will never stop searching for a means to turn you away from it. And I will never stop being your friend… even if, eventually, I find that I have become your enemy.”_  
  
Where did it come from? Where was this place inside of Vir where he found such faith in him? Londo had depended upon this faith and, by the gods, he had taken advantage of it on more than one occasion. And now Vir was going to die for him, for his cause. Londo felt heartsick, he felt ashamed, and most of all, he felt responsible.   
  
“Not… your… fault…”  
  
“What?”  
  
Londo dropped his hands and stared at Vir’s face, seeing the quiet strength that shined there even then. Had he heard correctly? Yes, Vir was saying it again: “Not… your… fault…”   
  
Great Maker. Vir _knew_ what Londo had been thinking.   
  
Vir drew in a wheezing breath. His chains rattled again as he reached out and grasped Londo’s shoulders. “My choice…” he choked.  
  
Londo heard the cell door open behind him, heard the guards enter. “I can’t save you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
The full meaning of those two words struck the core of Londo’s being. He knew Vir had learned of the Drakh. And now it was clear that he knew of the Keeper as well. In Vir’s eyes was forgiveness and it hurt with a physical pain.   
  
Londo watched as the guards unchained Vir and dragged him to his feet. Watched, his last hope drifting away and disappearing like a wisp of smoke in the wind. All he could hear in that moment was the pounding of his hearts. All he could feel was the ache in his chest and the burning in his eyes.  
  
And then, suddenly, Londo was on his feet. Propelled by insanity and grief, he lunged for one of the guards, knocking him to the ground with the weight of his body. The guard’s eyes drifted closed on impact.  
  
Londo, chest heaving, fought against the hold of the other guard, but his struggle was quickly and cruelly cut short by a blinding flash of pain. Falling to his knees, Londo screamed in agony, his cry echoing down the corridor.


	2. Dispensable

**II.**  
  
 **Dispensable**  
  
“Supper is ready, Mr. Cotto.”  
  
Vir was lying in bed with his back to the entryway and thus did not see the face of the woman who spoke. However, by her voice, he knew her to be the innkeeper’s wife, a plain but not unpleasant Centauri whose name he could not remember. Truth be told, since his arrival on the Centauri colony world of Davo a few days before, he had sequestered himself in his room, hardly the most gregarious of guests. There were simply too many things he had to sort out in his mind.  
  
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” Vir said.  
  
“All right,” his hostess said not unsympathetically in an accent that was a painful reminder of what- _who_ \- Vir had left behind. “I will set some aside if you change your mind.”  
  
The door clicked closed and the room was once again silent save for the driving rain that pounded against the roof.  
  
The accommodations were modest by Centauri standards, but clean and well kept. Vir pushed himself up and padded barefoot across the worn purple carpet to the large double window, pulling open the gossamer drapes. Water poured down the panes, blurring and distorting the black trees that clawed the roiling gray sky outside. Vir rested his forehead on the glass.  
  
He hadn’t wanted to leave.  
  
He _had_ been angry. Oh yes, he had been angry. After three nights of frighteningly vivid dreams that jolted him awake and left him trembling in the dark- those dreams compliments of Refa’s telepath- Vir had lost his temper. Feeling betrayed and used, he had vented his fury at Londo and had stormed off to his quarters to stew over the matter.  
  
A few hours later, Vir had walked into Londo’s quarters, bags and resignation in hand:  
  
 _“And where will you go, hmm?” Londo said, answering anger with anger. “Who will speak for you? Your family? As you say, your family has cast you aside. If you leave, you will end up in Ghehana begging for your meals. Without my influence, you are nobody- a fool with no power and no home.”  
  
“That’s not fair,” Vir responded tightly.  
  
“The truth is rarely fair.”  
  
“Maybe I won’t go to Centauri Prime. Maybe I’ll go… somewhere else!”  
  
“Madness!”  
  
“Maybe it is,” Vir said, and it broke his hearts to say it, “but you’ve taken too much, Londo. I wish to the gods that I could stay, but I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”  
  
Londo softened. “Vir…”  
  
“I-I’m sorry, Londo.” Vir turned away, no longer able to look Londo in the eye. “I’m sorry.”_  
  
Vir closed his eyes against the memory, sadness welling up and prickling his eyelids. All he had wanted was for Londo to come after him, to drag him away from customs, to move heaven and earth to keep him.   
  
Londo had done it once before. When Centauri Prime tried to replace Vir a little over a year before, Londo had called home and campaigned on his behalf. Though his head had ached from the consequences of drink, Vir had also felt _valued_ then.  
  
All Vir had wanted to hear was three little words: “I need you.” He had wanted to be needed, not as a game piece to be manipulated at will, but as a trusted ally. He had wanted Londo to put aside his pride and _tell_ him that, yes, Vir was indispensable.   
  
Vir had dared to believe that Londo’s actions were only a reflection of his grief over Adira, that his angry words were only a reflection of his shame.  
  
But Londo had never come and, Great Maker, that had hurt more than anything.   
  
Vir had cared for Londo deeply. He _still_ cared. He didn’t know when it started, and he definitely couldn’t explain it, but every time he looked at Londo, he felt a confused rush of sadness and anger and hope. Feelings like that couldn’t be turned off like one turned off a light.   
  
Once a few years before, Vir, troubled over the plight of a younger cousin who was lying unconscious in the Med Lab, had confronted Londo in the garden on matters of Centauri tradition. Vir had been ready for a full-scale argument, but Londo caught him flat-footed. He didn’t scold Vir for his presumption or repeat platitudes on the sanctity of the noble houses. Instead, he said that his shoes were too tight and he had forgotten how to dance, and there was such sorrow in those words that Vir was left mystified.  
  
Perhaps it started then, Vir thought as he opened his eyes.  
  
Vir saw a light in Londo. It was weak and small and struggling to burn, but it was _still there_ and Vir couldn’t just ignore it. As he stared out into the stormy evening, he wished with all his hearts that he hadn’t seen it. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this pain that filled his insides to the bursting point, that closed his throat and threatened to drive him insane.  
  
He couldn’t go back. That much he knew. As much as it hurt to close that door, Vir couldn’t take the risk of being wounded even further.   
  
Releasing a heavy, shaky sigh, Vir turned away from the window, palmed off the light, and lay back against his pillows. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered:  
  
 _What am I going to do now?_


	3. Calling

**III.  
  
Calling**  
  
Vir knelt on the ground in the imperial garden and, strangely, even though he knew he wasn’t really here, he could feel the cold moisture of the stone seeping through his trouser legs. Above him was Cartagia’s grotesque “example”: upon a pike rested a head that Vir only barely recognized.  
  
A month had passed since Londo had died in his attempt to free the Centauri from the reign of the mad Emperor Cartagia. And yet, every night, Vir’s subconscious brought him here to this place to face his own guilt.  
  
Londo had asked Vir for his help, but Vir’s own duties had prevented him from giving it. When word finally reached Minbar that a group of conspirators had tried to assassinate Emperor Cartagia, that Londo was among those conspirators, and that Londo and all of his relatives and allies were to be captured and executed by the emperor himself, Vir sensed he was in danger and had sought asylum with the Minbari. Now cut off from his people, Vir saw the Centauri homeworld only in his dreams.  
  
The smell of decay surrounded Vir as he stared into the dead eyes that once belonged to his mentor and friend. The severed head’s gray lips parted slightly and Vir shivered in disgust and averted his eyes as several maggots crawled from the opening and inched their way across the rotting flesh.  
  
Incredibly, in _this_ dream a voice broke the silence. “Why are you here?” it asked and the sound of it was so familiar that Vir felt his breath hitch in his chest.  
  
Vir didn’t dare raise his gaze. The feelings that the voice stirred within him were too keen, guilt and hope and sorrow washing over him like a wave. A shadow fell over Vir and a hand touched his chin and forced it up. “Londo,” Vir whispered in astonishment at the sight that met his eyes.  
  
“Why are you here?” Londo asked again. He was crouched before Vir looking very much like he did in life. Yet in some intangible sense he was different- his eyes shone with the knowledge of something far older and wiser.  
  
“I-I don’t know,” Vir said and it was the truth. “I don’t want to be here.”  
  
With dizzying suddenness, the scene changed and Vir was standing before the window in his quarters on Minbar. Sunlight filtered through the crystal spires of the city and fractured into rainbows that played across the walls.  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Vir said. “You… you sent me here. I-I didn’t think I’d like it. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I was good enough. And I-I didn’t want to leave you.”  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
 _“I don’t know!”_ Vir cried and his voice sounded pathetically shrill in his ears. “Why do you keep asking me that? I don’t know why I’m here and I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Am I just supposed to live out the rest of my life here knowing that I… that I have failed you?”  
  
“You believe you have failed your friend?” said the man who looked like Londo and yet wasn’t him somehow. The apparition touched Vir’s shoulder and Vir felt moisture fill his eyes.  
  
“Yes,” Vir whispered. Ashamed by his own weakness, he turned away from the window, sat down on the floor, and rested the back of his head against the wall.  
  
Then the floor tilted and Vir tumbled, his body slamming against a bulkhead. Disoriented and a little nauseous, he grabbed onto a nearby ledge and scrambled to his feet. He was standing on the bridge of a warship and in the middle of that bridge stood the Londo apparition. The ghost regarded Vir with searching eyes. “How can you be a failure when you are not yet finished?” he said.  
  
“I-I-I don’t understand,” Vir said, holding on for dear life as the deck started to vibrate violently beneath his feet.  
  
“You will…”  
  
A roar crescendoed around Vir, rapidly reaching a deafening volume. And then the walls and floor began to crumble and Vir lost his grip and fell.  
  
 *********  
  
Vir awoke with a start, knocking over the candle in his panic. Melted wax dripped onto Vir’s hand and he yelped in pain. The door to Vir’s quarters opened and a Minbari acolyte named Meshonn rushed in. Seeing the small fire that had leapt to life on Vir’s mat, Meshonn quickly smothered it with his robe.  
  
“I-I-I’m sorry,” Vir stammered in accented Minbari, a familiar warmth creeping up his cheeks. “I guess I fell asleep.” Attempting to put a pleasant face on it, he said, “If I stay here long enough, I’m sure I’ll burn down this entire building.” Vir laughed feebly, but when Meshonn didn’t immediately respond to the joke, Vir’s face fell.  
  
How mortifying- Vir must’ve pronounced the words wrong. For all he knew, he was babbling about fish. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Maybe I’m never going to master this. I mean, I-I’ve been trying to for the past month but… I-I just can’t concentrate. I don’t understand anymore now than I did when I first came here.” He sighed. “Maybe a Centauri is incapable of finding wisdom.”  
  
Meshonn smiled at this. “Wisdom belongs to no race, Vir Cotto. It simply is.”  
  
“Maybe you’re right,” Vir conceded with another sigh. “I just wish it were easier to find.”  
  
“You’re still troubled by your dreams?”  
  
Vir bowed his head in affirmation. “This time, Londo spoke to me… well, actually, it wasn’t _really_ Londo,” Vir amended, his hands fluttering before him. “He _looked_ like Londo, but he wasn’t… anyway, whoever it was told me that I wasn’t finished… I-I don’t know what he was talking about… and I was standing on this…” Vir trailed off when he saw Meshonn’s puzzled look. “I’m not making any sense, am I?” he said ruefully.  
  
“A dream is always confusing to a person who has not experienced it.” Off Vir’s nonverbal expression of frustration, Meshonn said, “Patience, Vir Cotto. Understanding will come in time.”  
  
Meshonn’s words echoed in Vir’s mind long after his host left to tend to other matters. Lying on his back on the floor, Vir allowed his thoughts to roil uninterrupted through his mind.  
  
“Understanding will come in time…”  
  
Images from another nightmare flashed before his eyes. Now Vir was standing in Londo’s quarters on Babylon 5, watching as Londo spoke with the Narn Na’Far. Gone was all the warmth and soul that Vir had come to know- it had been replaced by a hardened, icy arrogance. This part was memory, but in the dream, the scene shuddered and twisted and suddenly Londo was on Na’Far, drawing a knife across the Narn’s throat.  
  
On Vir’s first night on Minbar, he had woken up screaming from this nightmare, the reek of blood still lingering in his nose. The smell made him gag, but he gained control of himself before his evening meal made a return appearance. The noise aroused his Minbari hosts, and it had taken a great deal of time for the flushed, trembling Vir to convince the acolytes that he was just fine. It had been most embarrassing… and the humiliation had only grown more intense when he reached up to rub the fog from his eyes and discovered that his face was wet with tears.  
  
“A dream is always confusing to a person who has not experienced it.” And frequently, a dream confused- even frightened- the one who had.  
  
As the months went by, Vir adjusted to his new position. He even developed a newfound sense of empowerment in the role when he discovered he could channel his compassion for the Narn into worthwhile activities for the first time. Further, Vir came to appreciate the sense of order and purpose that seemed to permeate the daily lives of his hosts. Even now, with internal divisions between the castes growing ever more evident, Vir saw a light among the Minbari that was a hundred and eighty degrees opposed to the eternal grasping that seemed to define his own people.  
  
Yet the nightmares still plagued Vir despite his newfound confidence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had broken an unspoken promise in leaving Londo behind. And when he learned of Londo’s death, that feeling burned with even greater strength.  
  
“Understanding will come in time…”  
  
In the early days of his exile, sadness and shame overwhelmed Vir so completely that restful sleep repeatedly eluded him. The Minbari began to refer to him as _zhalen ra duma_ , wanderer of the night, and it was decided that Vir would learn how to meditate to cope with his grief.  
  
How very strange he must’ve looked sitting in silence and staring into the candlelight! Vir had never communed with the gods in this manner. It was not the Centauri way.  
  
But then, the Centauri way had never been his way. Not really. He had toasted with Londo at the Celebration of Life. He had devoured Centauri comedy and gloried in Centauri opera. But many corners of Centauri life were closed to Vir. This was never made more clear than when Londo had to stop and explain some aspect of Centauri culture that Vir’s guardians and tutors had never thought to teach him.  
  
“Wisdom belongs to no race…”  
  
The Minbari spoke to a part of Vir’s soul he had never known existed. They said that the candle represented life. They said that all life was born from the same stardust and it was only the ego that forgot, that believed itself superior to the rest. They said that each flame, each life, was unique, but equal to all the others in its creation. They said all of these things and Vir knew in his hearts that they were true. Yet he still felt like an imposter, a foreigner chanting words that were not his to speak.  
  
How was he, Vir Cotto, man of two worlds yet belonging to none, supposed to pray?  
  
“How can you be a failure when you are not yet finished?”  
  
The answer was in his dreams. Vir could feel it. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite touch it.  
  
“Not yet finished…” the voice whispered in his ears.  
  
And then, with stunning suddenness, he understood.  
  
 *********  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Do not move,” said Vito Aleron. “I’m almost finished.”  
  
Vir bit his lip and turned his red face away as Vito continued to bind the wound on Vir’s arm. When he finished, Vito asked, “Can you move your hand?”  
  
Vir looked down and opened and closed his hand experimentally. “Yes, I think so.”  
  
“Good. Then there is no nerve damage.”  
  
Vir slid off the table, closing his fingers around the hilt of his kutari and raising it until the tip of the blade was pointed at Vito’s chest. “Okay,” Vir said, “now show me how you did that.”  
  
Vito flashed his young guest an incredulous look. “Perhaps we should stop for today. It is almost time for the evening meal, and your concentration is beginning to falter.”  
  
Indeed, Vir was looking considerably the worse for wear. His face was flushed and filthy and his undershirt was soaked with sweat, his left sleeve hanging in tatters by his side. But at Vito’s suggestion that they cease their exercises, Vir’s jaw stiffened. “No,” he said. “I have to know how you did that. Show me.”  
  
Vito sighed and rubbed his bald head with his hand.  
  
When Vito Aleron left his post as head of the Centauri diplomatic mission on Minbar and settled on an isolated tract of land on the Minbari colony world of Sh’Lekk’Tha, he believed he would never see another of his kind again. It was his expectation that upon renouncing his Centauri citizenship, he would be declared _persona non grata_ , as the Humans say, among the Centauri- a result the rebellious Vito was quite willing to abide.  
  
It was thus a great surprise when, a few months before, Vir Cotto appeared on his doorstep and requested that he be taught to fight in the Centauri way.  
  
Vito had been tempted to refuse. His military experience was something he had put far out of mind when he adopted the Minbari way of life and he did not wish to be reminded of his youthful exploits. But Vir spoke of the tyranny that had descended upon the world of Vito’s birth with such quiet relentlessness and passion that Vito found it difficult to turn him away.  
  
Once they had begun, it became instantly apparent that the task of teaching Vir how to fight would be very difficult indeed. Vir was by nature a gentle young man and he often held back in their duels, afraid that he would injure his teacher. But Vir was also hardworking and, when it counted, surprisingly brave.  
  
Vito once asked Vir why it mattered to him so much, the fate of the Centauri Republic. “Because it mattered to my friend,” Vir said and in his eyes was a sadness so profound that Vito was left unable to respond.  
  
It was then that Vito realized that he was deeply fond of Vir.  
  
It was that fondness he was feeling now as he watched Vir rub the sweat off of his face with his remaining sleeve and tighten his grip on his kutari, his expression hardening with determination.  
  
“All right,” Vito said. “One more time.”  
  
 *********  
  
Delenn was not certain of the identity of the cloaked figure who had just passed through Customs until the man pulled back the hood which obscured his features in shadow. When she caught a glimpse of the familiar face, she smiled. “Vir.”  
  
It had been almost two years since Delenn had last spoken to the former diplomatic attaché, and it was clear that those years had affected Vir profoundly. While Vir’s face still carried the suggestion of youth, there was a gravity in his eyes that spoke of terrible loss. Delenn took Vir into her arms and Vir stiffened slightly in surprise before relaxing in the embrace.  
  
Pulling away, Delenn said, “It’s good to see you, Vir. I worried about you when the capital was attacked last year.”  
  
“I had already left for Sh’Lekk’Tha when the fighting started.” Then Vir turned to the man who stood beside Delenn and held out his hand in the Human manner. “Captain Sheridan.”  
  
“Hello, Vir,” said John. “I understand you have something to discuss with Delenn and me.”  
  
“Actually, there is someone else I would like to see as well…”  
  
Later, Delenn and John sat quietly in John’s office while Vir came near to wearing a hole in the floor with his nervous pacing. At last, the fourth attendee arrived, stopping the anxious Vir in his tracks.  
  
Citizen G’Kar of Narn stood for a time in the doorway, examining the smaller Vir with a searching gaze. Vir swallowed audibly as he took in the angry scar that marred G’Kar’s face. Delenn knew that G’Kar had acquired that scar in his fight to evade capture after the attempt on Emperor Cartagia’s life had failed.  
  
Vir had folded his hands before his mid-section and had opened his mouth to speak when G’Kar raised his fists to his chest and bowed his head.  
  
“You have helped thousands of my people escape to freedom, Cotto, and for that, you have my respect.”  
  
“Thank you,” Vir said softly. It took him a moment to come back to himself and restore the focus that had brought him to Babylon 5. “I asked to see you all today because… well, I need your help. I-I’m not really sure how to ask this, so…” Vir was bracing himself. Delenn could see Vir’s facial muscles tense slightly before the rest of his words spilled out in a rush. “So I’m just going to ask it. I need your help to free my people.”  
  
John’s expression was troubled. “That’s a very serious request, Vir,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure we _can_ help. Our resources were strained to the limit fighting President Clark’s forces. And even if we put those concerns aside, I’m not sure I can gather the support either back home or here to intervene on a matter internal to the Centauri.”  
  
“I know that. I-I do. But I also know that you’ve been having trouble curbing my government’s military aggression. That problem could be solved if you help me build a force that can stand in opposition to Cartagia. You’d stop the attacks on the Non-Aligned Worlds, you’d free my people… and you’d free the Narn too,” Vir added with a glance to G’Kar. “I’m not asking you to make it official. I’ve spent the past year learning everything from hand-to-hand combat to piloting a ship. I think… I think I can lead the force. But I’m going to need weapons and other supplies to make it happen.”  
  
“There are ways what you ask can be accomplished,” said G’Kar after trading a look with John. “I have a great deal of experience acquiring necessary resources through unofficial channels and I am willing to assist you in the name of freedom for my people. But I must ask you, Cotto… are you _sure_ you are ready to lead a resistance?”  
  
A long moment of silence passed before Vir spoke. “No, I-I’m not sure,” he admitted with complete honesty. “But I don’t think I’m ever going to be completely sure and the Centauri can’t wait for something that probably will never come. Londo tried to kill Cartagia to save us. That’s the _only_ thing I’m sure about and… well, that’s enough for me. I-I have to… I have to finish what he started.”  
  
Delenn had seen that light in Vir’s eyes once before. After a disastrous meeting between Londo and the Drazi Ambassador- a meeting Delenn had been asked to mediate- Vir had stood before her and expressed his utter conviction that Londo was not lost, that Londo _could_ be saved. As Lennier once observed after an evening spent consoling a troubled Vir, such hope was a heavy burden for one man to carry on his shoulders.  
  
As John assured Vir that they would consider his request, Delenn found herself wondering whether Vir Cotto might have something to teach about the importance of faith.  
  
 *********  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.  
  
Vir pulled himself across the deck of the ruined ship with his arms, ducking when a shower of sparks rained down on his head. His left leg stopped at the knee. The rest was blown off in an explosion, but he could still feel the toe of his boot dragging behind him.  
  
The shuddering had stopped. Apparently, the Centauri military neither noticed nor cared that there was still one rebel alive on this vessel and had moved on to other targets.  
  
A blinding flash of pain shot through Vir’s abdomen and he cried out. The sound was weak and pitiful in his ears. He rested his cheek against the deck, gasping for air, his vision beginning to dim. And it was strange, but he could hear voices calling to him from a great distance.  
  
 _Who are you?_  
  
 _What do you want?_  
  
 _Why are you here?_  
  
 _Where are you going?_  
  
 _What do you serve?_  
  
“I serve my friend,” Vir whispered as he lost his battle with the darkness, tears falling and evaporating on his face.


	4. Beaten/Broken

**IV.**  
  
 **Beaten/Broken**  
  
Lord Nicco Donato was in a foul mood.   
  
As Senator and head of the Local Court of the Beata Colony, the responsibility fell upon Donato to ensure the timely export of medicinal plants grown in his dominion. War and repressive regulations, however, had delayed several critical shipments beyond the period of viability. For some time now, he had been attempting to arrange a meeting to discuss such matters with Ambassador Londo Mollari, but he had been repeatedly and vigorously denied.  
  
It left a bad taste in Donato’s mouth, groveling before that pathetic excuse for a Centauri.   
  
Donato was well acquainted with Ambassador Mollari and knew him to be a frivolous, incompetent drunkard with a talent for offence. How, then, had Mollari been able to assemble a military force capable of utterly defeating the Narn? Donato couldn’t begin to guess. It insulted his pride to accept Mollari’s newfound prestige, but Donato was pragmatic enough to read the writing on the wall.  
  
As he sat in his dining room and stewed over his predicament, a germ of an idea began to form in the back of Donato’s mind. Perhaps he was taking the wrong approach communicating with Mollari’s aide over subspace (this aide being the sixth to fill the position in three years). Perhaps his entreaties would carry more weight if they were delivered in person.  
  
The entry of his personal aide, Vir Cotto, interrupted Donato’s train of thought and he felt a twinge of annoyance. The clumsy boy seemed completely incapable of entering a room quietly.   
  
For the hundredth time, Donato wondered why he had agreed to take in his ally’s nephew. The elder Cotto had contacted him when an arrangement to send the young man to the Human space station fell through at the last minute. Donato supposed he should’ve guessed that Vir Cotto would be less than impressive based on the desperation in his friend’s voice, but House Cotto and House Donato had been allied for several generations and it was difficult to deny the request. Several times in the past few years, Donato had attempted to rid himself of this particular burden, to no avail.  
  
“I’ve finished the reports you asked for,” said the young Centauri, holding out a small pile of printouts.   
  
Donato took the proffered papers and nodded curtly. “Thank you” was not a phrase Donato used with his help. Such courtesies tended to foster a troubling sense of self-importance- and with self-importance came eventual disobedience.   
  
And Cotto seemed particularly inclined to independent thought when it came to matters of Centauri tradition. It was, unfortunately, Donato’s responsibility to see that Cotto was raised in the proper way and while it brought him no joy to do so, Donato often had to resort to more corporal methods to assert his authority.  
  
Cotto began to exit the room when Donato stopped him. “Wait one minute.”  
  
Cotto turned, anxiety flickering across his round face. His features were marred by an angry red and purple mark, the consequence of an earlier rebellion regarding the conquest of Narn. The boy harbored a sickening compassion for those creatures, something Donato was determined to drive out by any means.  
  
Cotto stood with his chubby hands folded before him and his back hunched as if he expected another blow. Donato found that satisfyingly pathetic.  
  
“I require that all my meetings scheduled in the next two weeks be rescheduled.”  
  
Cotto released a small sigh of relief, something that did not escape Donato’s notice. “Yes, sir. May I ask-“  
  
Donato cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You will be accompanying me to Babylon 5. I grow weary of being rebuffed by Ambassador Mollari and I intend to confront him in person. My brother will attend to matters here. I trust him far more than I trust you.”  
  
Cotto bowed slightly and hurried off.  
  
 *********  
  
Vir sat in absolute silence as his superior raged, stalking about their rented quarters like a caged liati. Donato’s meeting with Ambassador Mollari had not gone well and Vir had learned the hard way that when Donato was in one of his tempers, it was best to approximate invisibility. Fortunately, Vir had had a lifetime of experience avoiding notice.  
  
Eventually, Donato cooled and retired to bed, leaving Vir alone in the sitting area. He didn’t have his own quarters. Donato was unwilling to spend the money on the extra room. Instead, Vir was expected to sleep upon the suite’s sofa. He shifted about for a time trying to find a comfortable position, but the piece of furniture was far too small. Sighing, Vir removed the sofa’s cushions, preparing to sleep on the floor, then decided he just wasn’t tired.  
  
Several minutes later, Vir stepped out of the transport tube and into Babylon 5’s commercial hub.  
  
It was an amazing sight. Though it was relatively late in the evening, the Zocalo teemed with life, thousands of people from countless different races perusing the merchants’ wares and filling up the bars and restaurants. Foreign smells assaulted his nose, trinkets gleamed on nearby kiosks, and his ears filled with the roar of hundreds of conversations. There was an earthiness and vibrancy here that reminded Vir of some of the more raucous corners of Homeworld.   
  
Vir didn’t know where to begin. Feeling a little lost, he sat down at a nearby bar. A blonde Human waitress hustled up to him and asked for his order.  
  
“Well… um… I don’t really know what I want,” Vir said, blushing. “I’ve never been here before.”  
  
“Where’d that bruise come from?”   
  
Vir touched the side of his face with his fingers. During the trip to Babylon 5, the mark from Donato’s fist had begun to fade to a sickly yellow-green. “An accident.”  
  
“Ah. Well, why don’t I surprise you with my own special recipe?”  
  
With impressive efficiency, the waitress mixed a drink and poured it into a long narrow glass, then set the glass before Vir. With some trepidation, Vir raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. The liquid burned on the way down and Vir coughed. “Wow… uh, that’s… pretty strong,” he said to himself. He took another sip, then put the drink down. He was starting to feel uncomfortably dizzy.  
  
Paying the bill, Vir rose and began to walk somewhat unsteadily to a neighboring kiosk. But before he could travel more than a few meters, an arm caught him in the chest, toppling him to the deck.  
  
Vir lay there for a moment holding his forehead and attempting to clear the fuzziness in his vision before a passing Human with a receding hairline grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Vir recognized the man’s uniform as that of Earthforce Security.  
  
Once Vir had been attended to, the security officer turned his attention to one of the bar’s other patrons, an older Centauri wearing what appeared to be the trappings of high office. His clothing, however, was rather unkempt- his coat was unbuttoned at the neckline and his crimson scarf was hanging free. The Centauri was swaying slightly, his face darkened by an anger that grew even fiercer when the security officer took hold of his arm. “Unhand me, Mr. Garibaldi,” the Centauri said in a pronounced northern provincial accent.  
  
“No, I don’t think so,” Garibaldi said quietly but firmly. “Go home, Londo- unless you want to spend the next few days in a cell.”  
  
The Centauri Vir now recognized as Ambassador Mollari glared at the security officer. Then, with a suddenness that made Vir jump, Mollari slammed his glass down on the counter top. The glass shattered on impact and Vir watched in shock as blood began to trickle from Mollari’s hand. Everyone within hearing distance stopped and stared.  
  
A tense moment passed. Garibaldi tightened his grip on Mollari and several other security officers rushed in to back him up. But before the arrest was made, Mollari spoke in a voice so low Vir barely heard it. “That will be unnecessary. I will leave voluntarily.”  
  
Transfixed, Vir looked on as Mollari yanked himself free of Garibaldi’s grasp. As the Centauri Ambassador stumbled passed, he shot Vir a glance. What Vir saw in Mollari’s eyes made his blood inexplicably run cold.   
  
Only later as he lay on the floor in Donato’s suite did Vir finally understand what it was he had seen:  
  
Emptiness.


	5. Needless Sacrifice

**V.**  
  
 **Needless Sacrifice**  
  
“Vir Cotto to Vorlon fleet… You got what you wanted. Londo Mollari has been killed. The last of the Shadows’ influence has been destroyed on Centauri Prime. _Please_ , disengage your weapons and _turn back!_ ”  
  
That single moment, as Vir waited for a response- _any_ response- seemed to go on for an eternity.  
  
And then, just like that, the sunlight began to return, filtering through the curtains and illuminating Vir’s face. The Vorlons had heard him and they were leaving.  
  
Vir backed away from the window, the beats of his hearts roaring in his ears. The back of his leg bumped against something soft and the full meaning of what had just occurred exploded into his consciousness. Vir’s knees buckled and he fell, dropping the dagger on the way down.  
  
In and out. In and out. Vir struggled to take in air, his breath coming in ragged gasps.  
  
A whisper and a touch brought Vir back to himself. “Vir…”  
  
Vir turned. Londo’s eyes had clouded over, but somehow he had still managed to summon the strength to reach out and touch Vir’s arm.  
  
Vir grabbed Londo’s hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, hope flaring brightly. “Londo… Great Maker, you’re still alive…” There was a twitch of the head and then the slight pressure of Londo squeezing back. Vir almost wept at the feel of it.   
  
“I’ll get a doctor. _Please…_ ” Vir spoke with a ferocity he had never before then expressed, not even on that day Londo started the war with the Narn. “Please, please, _please_ just hold on a little longer.”   
  
Vir struggled to get to his feet, but was stopped by a tug on his coat. “No…too late…”  
  
“No, it’s not! Don’t say that, Londo. I’ll just get a doctor and you’ll be all right.”  
  
Londo’s eyes drifted closed and suddenly Vir was angry and grabbing Londo’s face with his hands. “ _No!_ You can’t do this! _Do you hear me?_ I will never forgive you if you… I… I… will never…” Vir choked and trailed off. Then, in a voice so small that it seemed to come from a thousand miles away, he said, “I will never forgive myself.”  
  
The admission hung there in a silence punctuated by Londo’s rattling breath. And then, incredibly, Londo’s hand was moving again and Vir felt the contact of Londo’s fingers against his cheek. “You did… what was… necessary…”   
  
Those were the last words Londo spoke before his hand fell away and the last glimmers of life faded and disappeared.  
  
Londo Mollari was dead. He had asked Vir to kill him for the sake of the world that he loved so much and Vir had done it because he saw the desperation in Londo’s eyes and knew instantly the depth of that love.  
  
Vir stared at the weapon by his side in shock. The blade still glistened with blood- Londo’s blood. He then looked down at his own hands, twice the hands of an executioner. For some reason, he could still feel the hilt of the dagger in his palm.  
  
The world was small and dark and Vir and Londo were the only people in it.  
  
Vir pressed his hands against his eyes. This couldn’t be real. Although none were this frightening, he had had nightmares before. For almost two years now, bleeding Narns had clawed at his body in his dreamscapes. And in the past few days, Emperor Cartagia had joined them, cataloguing with relish the punishments that awaited Vir at the end of his journey. He even had a recurring nightmare in which Londo fell over a fiery cliff and no matter how hard he tried to pull him back up, Vir couldn’t save him.  
  
But he should’ve woken up by now, yelling and sweating in his nightclothes. Why was this dream continuing beyond the moment of horror?  
  
That was when Vir realized that this was all real, that he wasn’t asleep, and that Londo really was dead.  
  
Fury rushed through Vir with such force that before he knew what he was doing, he had jumped up and turned a nearby table over. The tabletop broke apart on impact.   
  
Vir collapsed, chest heaving, angry at a universe that would do this to him, angry at the Shadows, and angry with Londo for bringing them both to this point. A small part of him idly wondered if the noise would attract the guards, but then he realized that he didn’t care.  
  
He wished that there were some way the Great Maker could turn back time. He could go back to that day Londo sent the Shadows to attack Quadrant 14 and put his foot down. He could tell Londo that if he insisted upon taking advantage of the services of Mr. Morden, he would leave and never come back.   
  
Vir looked at Londo and knew he would give up anything to have that second chance.   
  
But that was not to be. Londo was gone and there were no such things as second chances. At least, not for the dead.  
  
 _“He sacrificed himself.”_  
  
Vir remembered the day Londo was forced to kill his friend, Urza Jaddo. For some weeks afterwards, Londo walked the station as if he were a ghost, as if he too had died in fulfilling the demands of the Couro Prido. At the time, Vir had felt sad and angry for Londo and had vented those feelings on Mr. Morden.  
  
Now Vir too knew what it was like to die the death of the soul and felt even closer to Londo than he ever had before.  
  
Did Londo know how much he meant to Vir? Vir wondered this as he touched Londo’s hand, held it in his own. It was still warm, but growing colder.  
  
“He sacrificed himself,” Vir murmured in the silence. He pulled Londo against him and closed his eyes, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks.  
  
It took two men to pry the distraught Vir away from Londo and it was a few hours before the other ministers could piece together what had happened. The palace guards who had seen Vir and Londo arguing in the garden corroborated Vir’s story and Minister Durano left Vir alone, apparently satisfied that the truth of the matter had been revealed.  
  
Night found Vir sitting on the floor in Londo’s room, clutching a bottle of brivari, his clothing disheveled and his hair crest in disarray.  
  
Vir knew the drink was an imperfect and temporary fix. He had tried it just a few days before when it was Cartagia he was trying to forget and all he got for his trouble was a new kind of nightmare and several hours spent slumped against the ship’s head. Uncharacteristically, Londo had refrained from joking about Vir’s “well known” inability to hold his liquor- or from regaling him with stories about his own hangovers- something for which Vir was profoundly grateful at the time.  
  
The very recent memory brought Vir’s grief once more into sharp focus and in desperation, he downed another glass. No, the brivari couldn’t stop this pain, but he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
Maybe- just maybe- if he drank enough, the resulting hangover would distract him until he could find another way to survive this.  
  
Vir’s spiraling train of thought was interrupted by the bleep of the communications unit. Taking his glass with him, Vir stumbled to his feet. He grabbed onto the couch for support when a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him, then lurched over to the screen to answer the call.  
  
Two images of Captain Sheridan danced before his eyes and he pressed his palm against the wall in an effort to hold it in place. The Sheridans did twin double takes.  
  
“Vir? Where’s Londo?”  
  
“Londo’s dead.” Vir’s slurred words were low and empty.  
  
“Oh.”   
  
A long and uncomfortable silence followed as Sheridan searched for the right words. And what could Sheridan say really? Vir thought. It’s not as if Londo and Sheridan were on good terms.   
  
At last, the Human captain settled on the simple. “I’m sorry, Vir.”  
  
“So am I.” Vir felt utterly alone.  
  
“I don’t know if this will help, but you should know that the war is over. The Shadows and Vorlons are gone forever, Vir. They went beyond the rim to join the rest of the First Ones. We won.”  
  
It was small comfort and Vir never felt less like celebrating.  
  
Sheridan continued: “I called because I wanted to be sure the Vorlons had called their remaining ships to Coriana 6 before an attack was launched on Centauri Prime. It looks as if-“  
  
“Wait,” Vir said, letting go of the wall and holding up his shaking hand. “Did you say the Vorlons called for reinforcements?”  
  
“Yes, I did.”   
  
Vir started to back away from the screen, his world sliding out from beneath him.  
  
Had it all been for nothing? If he had waited just a few minutes more before doing what Londo had asked of him, would the Vorlons have left on their own accord? If Londo had waited, would he still be alive?  
  
“Vir?” Sheridan’s voice was heavy with concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
Vir’s glass slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the floor.


	6. Postscript: What Truly Came to Pass

**VI.  
  
Postscript: What Truly Came to Pass**  
  
Vir stood on the balcony of the royal suite, a light breeze fluttering through his robe and nightgown.   
  
It was a beautiful night. Vir didn’t think he had ever seen the stars shine as brightly as they did at this moment. But in truth, his mind was focused more on the following day’s events than on the current state of the weather.  
  
The statues he had commissioned for the gates of the capital city were finally complete and he was to give a dedication.  
  
Of all the duties that fell upon Vir as Emperor of the Centauri Republic, it was public speaking that stirred up the most anxiety. After all, he had a great deal to live up to. Londo Mollari had a voice and a bearing that commanded instant attention and a way with words that was rivaled by few others. Vir felt very inadequate in comparison. Though he had long ago stopped stammering, he still had a soft and high-pitched voice- not the voice of a natural orator.  
  
“It’s not the style that matters, Vir,” Senna had once affectionately reminded him. “It’s the substance.”  
  
On this occasion, it was the substance that was giving Vir his principle trouble. The recent dinner with Captain Sheridan had stirred up a lot of old memories and arranging all of those memories into a coherent whole was proving quite difficult.  
  
Speaking of G’Kar was somewhat easier. There was a certain distance in Vir’s relationship with G’Kar, though the respect between them was quite real. In the end, G’Kar was far closer to Londo than he was to Vir.   
  
Londo. Thinking of Londo brought forth a jumbled mess of feeling and thought and memory. It was amazing, really, how close Vir came to embarrassing himself before Sheridan and the others. Years had passed since Londo’s death, yet a sound, a word, a casual conversation could bring it all back with such force that he often had to excuse himself to preserve his dignity. How was he to explain that to the Centauri he ruled? How was he to sum up all he knew of Londo in a single speech?  
  
Vir closed his eyes and allowed the memories to swirl through his soul.  
  
 **End**


End file.
